woodchuck addendum

My most recent research is aiming me towards the following set of eviction methodologies:

+Get dad to build a *really good* fence, well constructed with no gaps or places where my own lack of skill or sloppiness leads to an escape route. Even with a fence, however, I read several places that even though they are 20 pound rodents, they are actually excellent climbers.

+Get a short electric fence. There are solar powered ones, and that would be a cool thing to do or test out.

+Put small fences-- with bird netting-- in the raised beds. I realized this is another advantage of a raise bed-- I can easily stick in or attach a stake that I could throw something like bird netting over. I think this might be the best short-term solution, in addition to the next one...

+Pee in the hole. In addition to used cat litter, I will myself pee in the holes. I won't go out in the middle of the night to do it, but I have no problem with donating my "number one" runs to the backyard.

+Get a radio that I can leave on 24 hours and put out there. They don't like noise, if they think it could be people. I'll see if I can find one that might work at the thrift store, and put it under something plastic.

+Put beach balls that blow around and wavy shiny stuff in the garden, to startle them. It's like decorating-- throwing a farewell party for the woodchuck. Maybe I should have a saonce, too-- anything's worth a try. Maybe this is my chance to use all of those aol cds I knew I'd find a use for.

I read lots of warnings that even if you get rid of one, someone else-- especially a juvenile-- will come and occupy that hole pretty quickly. So, as soon as I can fend off/catch another one, I'll make sure to do bad things in the hole that would make it "unhospitable" for next traveller...

An Open Letter to My Woodchuck

Dear Mr. or Ms. Woodchuck,

It is over. The period of compromise, of move-all-the-veggies-you-love-to-the-front-yard-to-avoid-the-issue, of try some one nice diversion method-- well, it's done. Over. Despite my not finding evidence of the hole that your fat body slipped through or created (Yes, I called you fat-- I saw you prancing on Monday afternoon through the yard, acting as though you ruled *my* roost. And, if you're just pregnant, my apologies any insult, and even more reason why you must move away immediately.), today you decimated my kale. You know this well because your woodchuck belly is probably full of it. I'm not sure that you realize that I started that kale under lights and with love on March 29th in my basement, and have been nurturing it for two months since. Also not sure that you realized that you chomped down my LACINATO kale-- the prized kale I'd been looking forward to finally growing myself. I am sure that you didn't pay the electricity or water bill, or help me build the raised beds, or shovel that compost-- yet, you helped yourself. Woodchuck, I keep my lawn long just so you and other little creatures have a little more to munch on. I leave the dandelions and the lambsquarters in it-- both delicious and vitamin-filled repasts. But, it wasn't enough for you.

I might also mention that you didn't stop with my precious kale. You snipped some basil along the way (yes, I noticed), and probably did another munch on the peas you'd already leveled. I don't quite get how you got to the tomatillos, though-- so beautiful and such a splurge that I bought them already 18 inches tall and covered with flowers (well, couldn't find them in plain cell packs)-- it wasn't the lower leaves you took. Nope, somehow you much have tipped the whole plant over and chomped on some top leaves. I know that you're not that tall-- remember, I've seen you-- and I think that maybe even tipped me over the edge.

Woodchuck, you have led me to understand why people take up arms. An inner rage and urge to "protect my property" has come across me-- I did not know those feelings or inclinations even existed. I don't want to torture you, but the idea of your being shot doesn't pain me in the way it used to. I put rotting compost sludge down one of your multiple homes (maybe this one was your vacation residence, so you don't mind too much-- or maybe you were just getting me back) and plan to put used kitty litter down the others. I will not sleep until I find the appropriate deterrents on this here world wide web, and I will not rest until you-- and your family-- are caught or away.

I do not understand how my cat-- who inspires fear into the hearts of neighborhood dogs-- has not scared you away. She and I are going through a trying time as I try to understand what deep trauma has kept her from catching you-- such easy prey. I know it might have been the wrangle with the possum that left her scarred and now has her on prozac, but as soon as her inner soul is healed-- you'd better watch out, because she takes no prisoners.

So, consider this fair warning-- a stern but polite eviction notice, to be followed shortly by any means necessary to end this multi-year fiasco.

Signed,
Ypsiplanter

memorial day progress

Yesterday I planted just about all of the squares of my square foot gardens (I have 9 four by four foot squares). I think the only things not in are beets and some additional chard. Deanna opened my eyes recently to the fact that their seeds-- what you think of as their seeds (those funny shaped things) actually have the seeds inside. Duh. I had never thought about that, but any logic would have told me that the funny shape is a vessel for seeds and not seeds themselves. Anyway, she pounds hers to help release the seeds-- so she can spread them more and not have to thin. So, I've held back on planting so I can do some pre-planting-pounding.

I also typed up a map of every square foot-- might even laminate them-- so I can really keep track. In showing Emily the garden after dinner tonight, I'd already forgotten some of what was planted where (seeds, mind you-- I of course can id all the veggie plants. Perennials are another story).

Today I moved on to the front yard, and used up the compost left from a 5 yard load last year. Also headed twice to the city free compost pile in Clifford, my trusty pick up, for loads of black gold goodness. Lots of shoveling today... The main accomplishment was transforming another 1/4 (at least) of the front yard into garden bed. I'd prepped it a month ago, but many weeds had grown back. Added some inches of compost, and planted both some goodies from Coleman's (transported the 3 miles home on Emily's home-made trailer), some divides from my own perennials, things getting sad (i.e. hot and dry adn neglected and overgrown) in the greenhouse, and other assortedness. We'll see what takes!

full body gardening

I garden with my whole body. Really-- every part of it gets into it, and dirt gets into, well, every part. My feet, already showing their annual Chaco tan, are permanently dirty come May 1. I love it. I can still get my hands fairly clean somewhat easily, but have to remember when I'm going somewhere that clean-ish fingernails will matter and do an extra scrub.

When I was first thinking about how I garden with my whole body, it was about the way I often put down the tools to use my hands and feet. I plant many plants by digging with my hands-- fingernails dug deep in the soil and all. Instead of a rake to spread compost or even an area, I often use my feet. My leg and ab muscles get into it as I push or spread soil across a bed... And, many times I just sit right down and use my hands and arms as giant scoopers or rakes. During this process, of course, I get soil and assorted flora and possibly insects in my hair, and clothes, and on my face, and wherever else it can reach. I don't think I'd know that I put in a real day's work if it wasn't for the evidence all over my soiled self. While I'm talking here about gardening, I think the same extends in other areas of my life, too. Some times I wish it didn't, but I have for a long time had the core belief that you can't be truly creative without making a mess. Well, let me amend that-- *I* can't be creative without making a mess; I don't know about other people.

As I sit here clean and lotioned after my favorite kind of garden day-- the 8 hour, immersed and dirty and productive kind-- I reflect that the shower following a day of full body gardening is particularly satisfying, as the evidence sloughs off me and into the drain. (This picture of me is 2 years old, fyi...)

late frost

We should be in the clear. After about May 15, there's very very little chance that we'll have a frost. Last night, I suppose we did, and while I haven't surveyed the scene yet, I think I'm clear. I had been feeling well behind on getting those warm season crops in the ground-- the tomato and basil-types-- keeping things safely in the greenhouse (or at the plant store, where I'd resisted buying them on a number of occasions). I think it paid off, and the forecast from here on out looks reasonable, so this afternoon, on my precious day off, once the mercury gets a little higher (supposed to be in the low 60's later on), I'll finish up the square foot garden guides and send caution to the wind, confident that last night's frost will truly be the last.

On another note, Friday I got to buy all the plants for Ypsi PRIDE Day. Super indulgent, kid-in-a-candy-store sort of feeling to get to choose hundreds of plants. The process could be a little smoother in terms of advance planning, but we're working on that for next year. At Block's-- the cheapest place in the world to buy plants (cheaper than wholesale in many cases), and family-owned (it's by the Detroit Airport-- corner of Middlebelt & Eureka Road), mobs of people were eating up the springtime goodness.

hard not to start at the beginning

I've debated-- and probably half-started-- a personal or a garden blog a number of times, now, over a number of years. As with many things I never get off the ground, a big part of the challenge is that I don't know where to start. January 1 would be a good place-- a natural spot for a beginning, especially of a garden year. ...things are cold and sleeping in the ground, and the dreams of seed catalogs and green or just on the February horizon. Well, it's also not the time of year that I've ever thought about garden blogging. The period when I think of it is also the time of year where I can barely catch my breath because I'm *doing it* all of the time-- early spring. We've just finished that sprint, easing into the summertime. I'm harvesting a first crop of lettuce (mostly arugula), about to put now-saddening transplants I've been laboring over under lights and greenhouse for two months into the ground, and vowing each day that, while I am tempted approximately once an hour to run back to the plant store, I will not (I repeat, I *will not*) buy more plants until the ground is prepared and they can go right in.

At home I'm most excited about having converted the backyard veggie garden into raised four by four foot beds, giving me the discipline and structure that I have a difficult time finding on my own. My overzealous nature generally lets a garden that in the spring is properly tagged and ordered and measured transition into a green jungle by late summer. The result is probably less productivity and more loss (things fall on the ground and I don't notice amidst the jungle).

My vegetable goal for this season-- actually, finally, and for the first time after many years of intention, plant fall crops in August-September.